


Something Out Of Nothing

by Secre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 02:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secre/pseuds/Secre
Summary: Minerva realised when Harry James Potter first walked into Hogwarts that something wasn't right. Through a combined effort of the Snake and the Lion, they set to change things. Harry is now about to walk into his second year at the wizarding school, with a whole new curriculum. What happens when adults behave like adults with a basilisk on the loose? Sequel to I Did Nothing.





	1. A New Year

Glancing at my watch, I let out a deep sigh. I stand stiffly, old bones protesting just how long I have been sat in this chair without any semblance of movement. At one point in my long forgotten youth, I truly believed that the holiday season was for the Hogwarts professors as much as the students. That fantasy has long since been wiped clean from my thoughts and this summer has proved to be even more taxing than the usual run of the mill routines. Trying to put the new curriculum into place has proved tiresome; every time I think we are getting somewhere, we somehow hit another stumbling block. There’s always something, however small or minute; something always crops up, demanding our attention. And that’s just the curriculum. Don’t get me started on the people.

We’re getting there though, that’s the important thing. But for now it is time to put the reading lists away and actually relax for the first time this summer, even if only for a handful of hours. It’ll be good to get out of here for a while and I have to admit to myself, it will be good to see the Potter boy again. I’ve dropped in a handful of times over the break to reassure myself of Bathilda’s competence with the child, but not for any extended period of time. The little I have seen of him was encouraging mind you; Bathilda has managed to put some weight on his bones which even Hogwarts good food didn’t quite manage. We did our best mind, and he certainly wasn’t looking quite as pasty by the end of the school year.

Stretching deeply, I step towards the floo and take a deep breath. The darkly furnished room that I step into is as immaculately kept as ever, but balloons, banners and lights are festooned across the place. I duck automatically as something fizzes harmlessly over my head, followed by a catapulting head of red hair that doesn’t even stop to look in my direction. That had to be a Weasley. One of the younger ones by the general height and build, I would guess. That reminds me, I’ll be completing my Weasley collection this year if all goes as expected. Well, whatever young Ginevra brings to Gryffindor house, she can hardly cause any more trouble that her brothers have in years past. After all, these things are sent to try us.

“Would you like a drink, Professor?” The small voice greets me as I look around with a genuine smile. I look down to see young Potter glancing up at me, his emerald eyes shining beneath the edges of his fringe. “We’ve got coffee and pumpkin juice and exploding lemonade and milk and tea and well, loads more as well!”

“Now, that does sound like an impressive selection of beverages, young man,” I remark lightly, floating the wrapped box I’m holding onto the top of what is becoming quite a tower of presents. “And with a range like that, I really ought to go and investigate for myself, don’t you think? After all, you’re the birthday boy! You oughtn’t to be serving drinks on your own birthday!”

“I don’t mind, Professor,” the boy remarks shyly, glancing around at the brightly decorated room and the mountain of presents awaiting his attention. “I get to thank everyone for coming this way. I didn’t expect so many people to come. I’ll show you to the drinks, shall I?”

“So, just who is here?” I inquire, allowing myself to be led out of the darkly polished room and into a surprisingly spacious kitchen area, activity spilling out into the garden beyond as people bustle food and various interesting looking items between the spaces. It doesn’t escape my notice that somewhere along the way, what looks to be the entire range of Zonko’s Joke Shop has been smuggled in by somebody. Naming no names, but I have my suspicions. “I can see a few Weasley faces for a start.”  


“Nearly all of the Weasleys came along, and Mrs Weasley brought a huge cake with her,” Harry explains excitedly as he steers me to the drinks table, which indeed is loaded with just about every form of refreshment one could possibly imagine. It does my heart good to see Harry so naively pleased with the attention. Oh, to be young and excited over a cake. “Neville and Hermione are here as well, so is Mr Lupin and some other people Bathilda has introduced me to like the Bones, the Diggory and the Tonks families.”

Well, Bathilda had mentioned that she was slowly introducing Harry to several other prominent families. Most wizarding children have been in and out of each other’s houses since they could walk, unlike Harry who has been isolated near enough his entire life from the world that is his heritage and his birth right. It’s interesting that two of the families Harry has mentioned have children significantly older than him though. I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense; it introduces the boy to those he wouldn’t ordinarily come across in Hogwarts. After all, only the first years with older siblings routinely pester the upper years. I do note that Bathilda has chosen respectable, light families with which to introduce the child. I shouldn’t be biased, but I can’t help being relieved regardless.

“Most important of all though,” I remark as I help myself to a gillywater. Despite how long the day has seemed, it is perhaps unfortunately early for anything stronger. “How are you enjoying your party?”

“It’s amazing!” The boy gushes, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “It’s even better than Dudley’s old parties! Nobody’s ever…”

His voice tails off, but a friendly bellow from the living room catches his attention and he grins back up at me, whatever he was about to say all but forgotten.

“Thank you for coming, Professor!”

Then without another word, he darts off to find the owner of the voice that just heralded him so urgently. I watch with a smile and settle myself down into a comfortable chair I’ve just summoned rather lazily. The noise and bustle goes on around me as I sip my gillywater and simply soak in the atmosphere around me. Children seem to be everywhere, running and darting, screeching and laughing. It’s a sight for sore eyes and it’s wonderful to see Harry caught up in the middle of it, doing those things you would expect a normal child to do. Whatever my initial doubts about Bathilda, I can’t deny that she is doing a wonderful job with our boy.

“He’s come on leaps and bounds, hasn’t he?” Remus’ gentle voice brings me out of my contemplations, and I find him watching the scene around us with the same slight satisfaction that is likely on my face. “From that frightened mouse of a boy I met last year to well, this… You’d hardly believe it’s the same child.”

“I was just thinking the same,” I admit wryly, watching Harry and Ron tear about the garden on broomsticks, clearly playing some kind of game but one in which the rules will continue to baffle me. Neville on the ground seems to be awarding points for various feats of skill or daring, whilst Hermione sits to one side with her head rather predictably buried in a book. “It’s like a miracle.”

“No miracle, Minerva,” Remus says gruffly, as he shakes his head. “There is no heavenly intervention about this at all. This is all on you and Severus. And Bathilda of course. I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in when you did. It beggar’s belief that it had to come to that in the first place.”

“We did what any responsible adult would have done, Remus.” I reply gently, my eyes still following the two boys in the air, whooping like mad beings. Several others have started to collect brooms now and I suspect it’s going to be a free for all in the air within minutes. Even the Diggory boy, despite the age difference between them, has been collected and chivvied into the air. “You’d have done no different.”

“I wasn’t there to make that difference,” Remus says softly. “I believed Albus and kept my distance. You were there for the cub.”

“From what Bathilda’s told me, you’ve likely spent more time here with the boy than at home these last few weeks,” I chide him gently. “To each be their own place; mine was at Hogwarts and even then, it took Severus to point it out to me before I really cottoned on. We all have our blind spots. Albus was perhaps mine as well. But those days have passed.”

“I think we all had a blind spot where Albus was concerned,” Remus agrees bleakly. “I somehow thought him infallible. I of all people should have known better. After all, Albus’s discretion nearly got a boy killed all those years back.”

“No, Sirius’s stupidity almost got Severus killed,” I remark sharply, cutting the man off before he has a chance to get maudlin on me. “And it’s hardly as if he hasn’t done penance for every Merlin damned stupid thing he ever set his mind to do and then more besides that. What’s done is done. We can only change the future, Remus. But just look at what a future we are creating.”

The weary puff of laughter from beside me is enough to let me know that Remus has taken my point. For it isn’t just the sight of these children here and now, but the knowledge that we have over-turned the education of our young witches and wizards in such a way that hasn’t been seen in centuries. Through our changes, we will have helped to shape a change that will reverberate through the years, offering both knowledge and practical experience that will set young hearts ablaze. And in that future stands these children. Through them we will make Hogwarts great once again. Through them we will shape the future.

“Happy birthday to you…” I turn at the sound of the singing, only to watch the most unbelievable cake float before a small swarm of people. Molly has done herself proud and I can’t help but simply stare at it in amazement. It is a full-sized replica of the Nimbus 2000 that Harry himself swoops down to the ground on; each twig and branch included individually, the handle gleaming as though it had been newly polished. And resting gently on the stick, its wings fluttering softly as the broom glides across the garden, is a perfectly detailed Golden Snitch, not quite hovering but somehow looking as though it could soar off at any moment. “Happy birthday to you…”

I recover enough of my wits to join in with the growing chorus of voices.

“Happy birthday, dear Harry! Happy birthday to you…”

The boy has clearly seen the cake before, but even still, his eyes are caught by the intricate detail displayed within it. His breath catches as he reaches out a hand toward it, only to find the Golden Snitch buzzes as he does so and the small, golden ball hovers up to rest lightly in the palm of his hand. With what could almost be considered a contented purr, the wings furl up into the ball and it becomes still and silent. I hear Molly’s chuckle from behind me.

“I’m glad that worked,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else I feel. “I didn’t know if I’d instilled enough magic into the thing to make that party trick fly…”

“It seems a shame to cut it up,” I respond in an equally low-key tone, not wanting to interrupt the excited squeals and astonishment surrounding the cake. “It’s a work of art, Molly, it really is.”

“Oh, it’s not that special, Minerva!” Molly’s tone is flustered, but the pink flush rising up her cheeks is mark enough that she is pleased with the compliment. “Ron told me that Harry had never had his own birthday cake, would you believe it? Now, I couldn’t be having that! No. It was the least I could do.”

“It’s wonderful, Molly, it truly is,” I repeat, true admiration colouring my tone. “I think that’s possibly the best present you could have got him.”

Our conversation is cut short as the cake is ceremoniously cut, showing the caramel infused layers throughout. Small hands dart in to grab a slice before it’s gone, as though a cake that size is going to be finished off today even by this ravenous hoard of youngsters. The general clamour and bustle is reduced to appreciative murmurs and the occasional grubby fingers reaching out for seconds… or perhaps thirds. I have to admit; Molly’s efforts taste as divine as they look and I tell her so. Looking around, I can’t see anyone who might disagree with me.

“So, has Percy decided what electives he’s going to take for his IMP’s?” I ask Molly, as I finish off the cake and look wistfully at the remaining slices. Maybe I’ll get a second piece later to take home… “I imagine the curriculum change must have come as quite a shock to him.”

I don’t imagine at all, as it happens. Percy had his O.W.L’s planned out long before we even handed out the options to students. It goes without saying that he’s had his N.E.W.T’s planned for the better part of a year already. I can’t imagine him dropping any of his core classes, but with his rigidly defined mind-set, I’m not entirely sure which of the new electives he will be going for.

“Oh, you should have heard him going on about it!” Molly exclaims with a laugh, confirming my suspicions. “Ever since the letters came through, he’s been mithering and dithering about it all hours of the day and night. I swear blind the boy has been dreaming about it! Not that it’s much of a surprise given how much time he spent researching all the options. He even went to the trouble of finding detailed biographies on all of your planned staff changes. I swear he knows more about his prospective professors than they know about themselves!”

“That sounds like Percy,” I agree warmly. “Did he reach a decision in the end?”

“Well, of course he plans on keeping Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Runes and Arithmancy,” Molly confirms, ticking them off on her fingers as she goes. “Magical Theory was definitely on his top list last I heard, as is Human Transfiguration and Wandless Magic. Then I believe he was either interested in Ritualistic Magic which means he’d need Defence, Herbology and Astronomy or possibly Spellcraft instead which would only need Defence and World Magics… I think he’s likely going to edge towards Spellcraft as that will allow him to add in either Bulgarian or French which he is determined will be useful in the Ministry.”

Molly's voice peters off as she realises I am staring at her gapingly. I blink a couple of times before finally speaking.

"You do realise we had intended on the most capable students taking nine IMPs, Molly?" I say shortly, astonishment clear in my tone. "We would anticipate the majority of students taking between four and seven. Percy is thinking of taking twelve?"

"Oh, and Percy is also interested in enrolling in the Healing TOAD as a parallel course, you realise," Molly Weasley assures me blithely, a strange smile on her face as she looks across at her son. "Of course, he already has his Herbology O.W.L, so there should be no issues there. Of all my boys, he is determined to be Perfect Percy." She looks up at me again, before continuing softly, in a wistful tone of voice. "We are both so very proud of him, of course. I sometimes wish he would realise it, though."

With that, Molly wanders back off into the milling crowd, accepting the praise around her with a pleased smile and a growing blush. I sit back in my chair, a slightly perplexed smile upon my face. Twelve. Percy Weasley intends to take twelve IMP's along with a TOAD. He may well set a record in the very first year of these new qualifications. But Molly's comments make me resolve to watch my current oldest Weasley carefully. That wistful tone and forsaken smile. Percy Weasley may be a formidable student, and he can certainly come across as imperious, pompous and, in all honesty, fairly callous. Maybe there is more there than meets the eye, a layer beneath the surface; a fragility hidden there that I haven't quite seen. If this last year proved anything to me, it's that it certainly won't be the first time.

But as I sit and watch young Harry begin to open his mountain of presents, I can't help but smile and it is not just due to the sight in front of me. Such an ordinary sight. A twelve-year-old boy surrounded by presents and torn wrapping paper, friends and family and jokes and laughter. Such a sight nonetheless. That isn't the main reason for my smile however. No. The true reason is ever more fundamental. It is because however difficult the last year has been for us all, and I doubt there is anyone who would deny that, I can see the beginnings of a new future. The start of a new year always fills me with a mixture of excitement, anticipation and trepidation, but even if everything that could go wrong does, this year can only head upwards in my estimation.

A new yet of first years. A new curriculum to balance along with the existing examinations that need to be taken. All the stresses and chaotic nightmares that young wizarding children somehow manage to create when enclosed in an admittedly large castle for a year. A new year. A new beginning. And sitting here, watching the excitement and the enthusiasm around me, I catch Remus' eye and laugh quietly to myself. There will be challenges ahead, that goes without saying. But they are challenges we will be ready to meet head on.

A new year. Let us make sure it is a good one. After all, it cannot be worse than the year just behind us.


	2. A Whomping Entrance

"Minerva, the boys didn't get on the Express!"

The first day of term is always somewhat stressful. After all, there is a whole new host of first years to think of. It always worries me that Hagrid is the one to bring them over the lake to the castle. I understand the symbolism and the majesty of approaching the wonder that is Hogwarts from across the lake for the first time, but does it really have to be Hagrid? I would happily trust the man with my coat, but I'm not quite sure that I trust him with my first years. Frankly, it's a miracle that more of them don't look like drowned nifflers as they walk through the castle doors. With that in mind, I could certainly have done without the head in my fireplace, at seventeen minutes past eleven in the morning. The Hogwarts Express would only just have left for Merlin's sake.

"Are you sure, Molly?" I ask reasonably, after all with it being Ginevra's first year this year, it wouldn't surprise me if Molly had been a mite distracted. "They could have just slipped past you when you weren't watching…"

Or indeed, even if it wasn't her youngest daughters first year at Hogwarts, come to think of it. That is one of the issues with having quite such a large brood of youngsters as Molly and Arthur have raised; with every incremental increase, it becomes ever easier to misplace one. I should know. Taking a group of first-years out for the first time teaches you lessons you will never forget. One of them, indeed the most important one being the art of delegation. Or in other words, not being the poor soul in charge of thirty excited eleven-year olds. How Molly hasn't managed to lose one or two of her clutch before is beyond me.

"They definitely didn't!" Molly protests indignantly. "Augusta and Bathilda were both standing with me and none of us saw the boys get on the Express. In fact, we didn't even see them on the platform. But they've gone! We've checked all over the station and they have simply vanished!"

"Hold on, Molly," I say quietly, a slow and uncomfortable suspicion beginning to rise within my chest at her words. The sight of a marvellous tawny owl soaring towards my window does nothing to ease my growing concerns. "Who exactly are we talking about here…?"

I almost don't need to hear her panicked response, for I can recognise Augusta's distinctive script instantly. My heart sinks as the owl sweeps through the open window and lands heavily on my desk. First Molly. Now Augusta. And trouble always comes in threes.

Dear Minerva,

I would be grateful if you would be able to inform me when Neville arrives at Hogwarts, or if he and his friends do not appear before the end of the Sorting Feast. I am with Bathilda now and we are currently assuming there was some form of mishap at the station that resulted in them missing the Hogwarts Express.

Neville has a level enough head when it suits him at least, and I am sure an alternative method of transport has been located. If this turns out to be a boyhood prank however, you can assure Neville that he will have to answer to me to personally.

Yours sincerely,

Augusta Longbottom

There are a few things I can think of that would be considered worse than losing three second years on the first day of term, but not many if I am brutally honest with myself. And why didn't they get on the train? What was the problem? Did one of them fall ill or get injured perhaps? But if that was the case then surely, they would have stayed put until the adults came back from the platform… or even better, sent one of them through to get immediate help. Molly would have heard something if a child had been rushed to a muggle hospital without a guardian, I am sure, and there was nothing of that ilk. All she heard were some discontented mutterings about keeping a wild animal locked up in a cage and knocking it around like that. But that makes no sense either. Potter owns an owl, but he dotes on the thing and both Weasley and Longbottom rely on the school owls to relay messages for them if the family owl isn't to hand.

A prank then? Except, I can see James and Sirius planning something ridiculous like flying a muggle car onto the grounds as a statement, but the same isn't true for these three. Potter is still too timid and conscious of authority, Weasley far too afraid of his mother to pull a stunt like that and Longbottom too well brought up; it just doesn't fit with the boys I know. The only thing I can think of that might make sense is if for some reason, they couldn't get through the barrier. But that's impossible. In all the years I have been teaching at Hogwarts, I have never heard of such a thing. No child has ever been refused access to Platform 9¾. Nobody else was affected, or I'd have had a swarm of owls raining on my desk from irate parents by now and Molly, Bathilda and Augusta obviously successfully exited the barrier without a problem. It doesn't add up.

I'm both puzzled and more than a little concerned as I make my way down to the front entrance to await the arrival of my latest batch of first years. This is a special time of the year, a magical time and one that is the greatest of pleasures to take part in. For many of these students, this is the first time they have ever seen Hogwarts, for others this is their whole introduction to the world of magic and wonder that they have discovered themselves to be a part of. For the next seven years, Hogwarts will be their home and their House their family, so for this one day at least, they need to be wowed by what they see before them.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," I say, looking around at the small faces and shuffling feet in front of me. I can immediately pick out Ginevra Weasley, like all of her siblings she has the characteristic flaming red hair and bespeckled face. There's one boy with a noticeable resemblance to Marcus Flint and another one that may just be a Haywood, and the girl with an aura of distinct dottiness with a necklace resembling a collection of used Butterbeer caps has to be Xenophilius's daughter. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."

After giving them a brief run through the houses and what will be expected of them next, I leave the small group to try to tidy themselves up slightly before they stand before the entire student body. Glancing into the Great Hall, it looks as though the majority of the students have settled themselves down in their usual haphazard manner, although there will always be a few latecomers and stragglers, despite them all arriving on the same transport. It never fails to amaze me. Apparently however, this will include three of my own this year as I cannot see Weasley, Longbottom or Potter. That concern twinges at me again, but there is little I can do until the Sorting ceremony is over.

The staff table has had to be enlarged this year as well, to allow for numerous additional members of staff. I can see many of the older students are already trying to put faces to names or guess who will be teaching each topic, whilst the younger children look at the front of the hall with some bemusement. There was little need to give the first to fourth years the full range of IMP and TOAD’s after all. Collecting the gaggle of children, they follow me obediently as I walk into the Great Hall, looking somewhere between excited and petrified. This also doesn't surprise me; there is a long running tradition of Hogwarts for the first years to be unaware of the sorting ceremony and somehow this tradition generally holds true through the years. I have discovered that childish minds can imagine all kinds of inventive alternatives, but rarely see themselves sorted by a hat. They look at the patched and threadbare hat that I place on a stool in front of them sceptically.

The looks of astonished shock when the Sorting Hat opens its brim and sings is a sight that will never get old to me. Each year, the same process and each year this is the moment that truly catches them off guard. 

Oh, I may look dishevelled,   
But just sit beneath my brim  
For I hold secrets great and small,  
Some vulgar, some more prim.

All young minds within these halls  
Come meet me from those doors  
No secrets can you keep from me  
Though some have tried, of course.

My purpose though is not to judge  
Nor spill tales to waiting ears  
Trust in me to keep my peace  
You have no need to fear.

My greatest role within these walls  
Is to look into your minds  
And find the place for you right here  
That fits with your design.

For your House will be your family  
As Hogwarts is your home  
The friendships forged in blood and fire  
Are purpose enough alone.

Those minutes sat beneath my brim  
May seem to be too brief  
I see the changes you can sustain  
Through triumph and through grief.

So is Gryffindor the home for you,  
The house of brave and bold  
Where courage and unstinting nerve  
Are cherished and foretold.

Or Slytherin perhaps, young friends  
Where sit the cunning minds  
Ambition is held utmost here  
You reach your ends, I find.

Yet Ravenclaw of course stands proud  
For knowledge is their drive  
These curious minds find great reward  
And many here will thrive.

Last but not least, dear Hufflepuffs  
Working with unfailing toil  
The backbone that supports us all  
Foundations in the soil.

The time is here, step forward now  
And discover your true place  
Trust in me, be not afraid my child  
I wield my skill with grace.

And when the applause dies down, I step forward holding a long roll of parchment before me.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," I gesture to the battered looking thing with a small smile; you would never have guessed from looking at it that it is a valuable and irreplaceable magical artefact. "Acero, Sofia!"

A tall, whip thin girl steps forward, puts on the hat and sits fairly gracefully on the stool. A moment's pause before the hat opens its brim and bellows, 'RAVENCLAW!' The Great Hall erupts into applause as the new Ravenclaw finds a seat at her House table, and I continue through the list. It doesn't surprise me overly that Flint, Elias finds himself in Slytherin, although the Lovegood girl is an unexpected one; she looks more like a Hufflepuff than a Ravenclaw to my experienced eye, but the Sorting Hat knows best. And we finish with Weasley, Ginevra who, entirely unsurprisingly, is met with a bellow of 'GRYFFINDOR' almost the moment the hat touches that shock of red hair. The twins are almost bouncing off the table.

Albus stands up with a clap of his hands and the room gradually quietens to a more reasonable level, before he speaks. Unlike previous years he waits an extra couple of beats until there is the best approximation of silence you are going to get with a half full of excitable children and adolescents.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts, one and all, both new and returning students! The banquet will be served soon you will surely be glad to here, and I hardly wish to keep you all from the delights that do await you. However, some introductions do need to be made before we can begin!" Albus sweeps his hand to take in the expanded staff table and numerous new faces. "As you can see, Hogwarts has had a bit of a facelift over the summer and we have found all sorts of new stuff to replace the fluff that your brains are filled with. We are exceptionally lucky to have attracted some of the excellent and specialist minds, most of whom will only teach at the higher levels and I won’t keep you from your food for that. However, there are a few new faces that will be relevant to you all."

"First, we welcome back Professor Lupin who will be teaching the newly re-structured Protective and Defensive Spellcraft and Lore as well as the new Duelling classes for third year students and above. He will be working closely with Professor Kettleburn and Madame Quinou who are leading the Magical Species sections of the curriculum. Professor Golding and Professor Tingle will be taking charge of the non-magical lessons for Mathematics, Science, The Written Word and the Introduction to the Muggle World."

"And finally, there are a few small changes to our existing staff line up. Professor Binns has hung up his ghostly teaching cloak," Albus remarks with a twinkle in his eye, clearly not missing the sighs of relief that permeate the hall, "although he will continue to occupy those chambers, so if you have a burning need to learn about the Goblin Wars, you will know where to find him." The heartfelt groans that fill the hall suggest that, if my guess is correct, that particular wing of the castle will now become utterly deserted. "So, it behoves me to introduce Professor Hopkirk, who has been in charge of the examination scripts for many a year and will now get a chance to see the other side of the galleon of education. And of course, I must not forget to mention Professor Snape…"

The entire hall goes so quiet it is as though everyone stopped breathing at the same time. Even those with wandering attentions through Albus' introductions are suddenly fixated on our Headmaster. Albus lets the tension build for a long moment, and I note one or two of my younger Gryffindors going all but purple with excitement.

"We are exceedingly lucky to have such a capable and experienced Potions Master in our midst," Albus begins, amidst a low grumble of disappointment and sighs. "Few institutions are able to boast such expertise in their teaching staff. However, with so many new opportunities within the Potions IMP, it has been considered carefully where our resident Potions Master's skills are in most demand. For this reason, we welcome Professor Reynolds, who will be teaching Potions through to the TOAD examinations, whilst Professor Snape concentrates solely on the upper year students in the advanced classes, unless cover is required."

There's a moment of indrawn breath as though our student body is just waiting for the universe to creep up behind them and shout 'Just kidding!', but when Albus continues to simply stand and look at them benignly, it seems to sink in. The room explodes in a cacophony of noise as students whoop, scream and holler and hats go flying off in every which way they possibly can. I don't dare look at Severus for fear that he would see the slight smirk creasing the corner of my mouth. His teaching methods have always left a significant amount to be desired, when all is said and done. Mind you, Severus himself was over the moon with the thought that he'd managed to wash his hands of the majority of the dunderheads once and for all. I have every reason to suspect that he's even more pleased than the students with this new arrangement.

"Let the feast begin!"

Food appears on the tables before the students and they fall upon it excitedly, the din rising once more, but my attention is caught by a loud crashing that seems to originate from somewhere on the castle grounds. Within moments, Argus is standing at the doorway looking distinctly disgruntled, although that is his standard facial expression I will admit, and I find myself standing to determine what has occurred now. Few others seem to pay attention to the disturbance outside, although some of the first years look nervous. For the rest of them, this is normal fare for Hogwarts. If you got upset every time you heard a crash or a bang, you'd spend most of your student life in a state of nervous distraction. That said, I'm not the only one to begin making my way to the entrance, as both myself and Severus stand at the same time and walk, if not together, then at least with the same purpose in mind.

"You seem to be missing a few students, Minerva," Severus remarks to me in an undertone as we approach the entrance. "Careless of you, this early in the term…"

"I'm not sure it's my carelessness on the table when they don't even make it onto the Hogwarts Express," I reply in an equally low tone. "But yes, if they don't arrive by the end of the feast…"

I let the sentence tail off as in all reality, if they don't arrive by the end of the feast I really don't know what I am going to do. Bathilda and Augusta have been checking the obvious places, it doesn't seem like simple truancy and I'm running out of options. I suspect we'll have to get the Ministry involved, which is something I could really do without. Fudge has the tact and diplomacy of a niffler on firewhisky and it won't even be an hour before the entire wizarding world knows the Boy-Who-Lived has gone missing. We close the door on the students behind us and look expectantly at Argus.

"You'll never guess what those brats have gone and done now," Argus opens with, gesturing wildly outside. "Just you come and see. A pity they let the old punishments die out. You wouldn't get this kind of behaviour back in those days, you believe me…"

"Argus, what exactly is going on?" I question tartly.

"They've gone and landed a bus in the Whomping Willow of all places!" Argus exclaims in utter disgust. "A fine specimen that tree, but the damage they'll have done to it…"

"Who has landed a bus in the Whomping Willow?" Severus drawls slowly, his tone one of cold contempt.

"I don't know, do I?" Filch snorts. "It's got to be some of those good for nothing kids though, hasn't it? Who else is going to be landing a flying bus in the middle of a prized tree?"

I barely refrain from raising my eyebrows at the man. He's usually got nothing but complaints about the Whomping Willow; how it scares Mrs Norris and shouldn't be permitted on Hogwarts grounds. It's only because he believes he has a chance to see some poor soul get ripped apart by Severus on their first day that he's so defensive of it all of a sudden, I know.

"Let us go and find out, shall we?" Severus's snide drawl continues. "After all, once we have the answer to the question of whom, it is only a matter of time until we can get to the crux of the issue of why…"

"Why? Why?" The older Squib splutters, looking as though Severus had suggested something particularly unusual. "Who cares about the why!? Hang them up by their thumbs is what we should do. They won't do it again after that in a hurry, no they certainly will not. You know it's working when you hear the screaming…"

I shake my head in disgust at Argus's medieval attitude towards school discipline and set off at a fast trot to the site of the Whomping Willow. Argus does have a minor point; the Whomping Willow is one of the only specimens of its kind in the United Kingdom to the best of my knowledge, but it's not exactly an heirloom of the school. If anything, it's a disaster waiting to happen, but for some reason Albus has a soft spot for the violent thing and won't hear anything said about having it removed for the sake of student safety. Last time I mentioned it, I got some nonsense about how every magical school needs a sense of adventure… as though the centaurs, the mermaids, the ghosts and the poltergeist didn't already provide enough of that.

The sight of a bright purple bus being batted between the gigantic swooping arms of the giant tree in front of us is enough to stop me in my tracks however. Every so often it stops as though trying to vanish, but not even inanimate objects can apparate within the grounds of Hogwarts. Instead, it finds itself well within the long reach of the flailing wooden limbs, being batted and hammered from one direction to another. It strikes me that the tree is almost playing with the vehicle, as though it were a cat torturing a mouse for sport or entertainment. I don't think the Whomping Willow has that much awareness, but it's quite an amazing sight to see.

For a moment my brain goes blank, unsure what to do when confronted with the sight of the rapidly denting triple decker bus in front of me. Hogwarts has flung many mysteries and surprises at me over the years, but this is a new one even for me and I find myself simply staring in disbelief. Severus' reactions are faster than mine and he darts forwards, ducking under the thrashing boughs with astonishing reflexes. Without any fanfare, he sends a compressed ball of air spinning toward the base of the tree and, to my absolute amazement, the tree branches stop their frenzied violence as though they had never been moving. 

The bus drops sharply to the ground, but the awkward downward motion is arrested by a sharp wave of Severus's wand and floats as gracefully as a bright purple bus can to the ground. I look at Severus in newfound astonishment. He did that instinctively, on reflexes alone and I have no idea how he even knew what to do. I’d have perhaps tried to immobilise the thing manually, indeed I suspect any member of staff would and it would probably take a cohort of us together. How in the name of Merlin did Severus know exactly what to do in order to bring the entire tree to a grinding halt?

My thoughts are soon interrupted however, as soon the tires reach the safety of the ground, and the door bangs open leaving a rather dishevelled looking group to tumble out of it, looking around dazedly. With some great relief, I quickly spot the three smaller forms of my missing second years amongst the group and start towards them quickly. 

"Who now placed a thumping giant tree there!?" A bespectacled older wizard snaps grumpily, gesturing wildly to the stilled branches of the Whomping Willow. "That weren't there when I was here last… and look at what it's done to my wheels! Someone's gonna have to pay for this, you know!"

"I understand it was Albus Dumbledore who presided as Headmaster over the planting of the Whomping Willow," Severus drawls snidely, his tone only just short of sarcastic. "I believe he was of the opinion that it was big enough for thestrals, buses and flying cars to notice before they decided to see it up close and personal… and it has been there over a decade now by my count…"

"How were I to know!?" The man blusters. "It weren't there in my day! That there thing could take someone's eye out! And look what it's done to my bus!"

"Look what your bus has done to this fine historical specimen," Severus replies tartly. "A unique and valuable specimen of great interest to herbalists and potioneers from all over the country. Thousands of Galleons of damage, I would have thought… We will of course have to discuss compensation for the results of your thoughtless and reckless actions…"

I tune out the worried protests of what is evidently the driver of the purple monstrosity sitting on the Hogwarts grounds, even as I bite back a smirk at the temerity of my younger colleague. It is possible that the only word of truth he has just spoken is that the tree is unique; there's certainly no other in the United Kingdom to my knowledge. But as far as valuable or interesting goes, you can't harvest any useful materials from it for potions or enchanting, its wood has been found to be drastically unpredictable when used for wands and the only thing it does remotely well is hit anything that comes close to it with a violent intensity. I'd for one would be willing to get rid of it for a bent Sickle and I know for a fact that Severus is of a similar mindset.

Thankfully, it looks as though my boys are uninjured, if distinctly pale and shaken. The main casualty appears to be the young Weasley boy's wand which appears to be emitting dangerously red sparks from the broken ends as he looks down at it mournfully. The look of abject dismay on his face doesn’t overly surprise me; I suspect he is wondering how in Merlin's name he is going to explain this particular conundrum to his mother.

"I did tell you not to stick it in your back pocket!" Longbottom remarks shakily, his gaze also caught be the fatally damaged wand wood. "I don't think even Ollivander will be able to put that back together for you…"

"My mum's gonna murder me…" The Weasley boy groans miserably. "This one belonged to Charlie and with all the new books and things this year for us all, there's no way they'll be able to buy me a new wand!"

"Well, you can't spend all year with that, Mister Weasley. We will have to sort something out on your behalf," I remark, watching as three heads shoot up and watch me nervously as I continue dryly. "But first, would you kindly explain why you took an alternate mode of transport to the Hogwarts Express this year, boys? I do hope you have a reasonable explanation…"

"Well, uh… the barrier…" "It's like this Professor McGonagall…" I close my eyes as the three boys all start speaking at the same time. "We really didn't have a choice, Professor!" "We couldn't get onto the train!"

"And why didn't you send us a letter by owl?" I respond dryly, once the explanations have petered off. Four faces stare at me with varying degrees of mortification and realisation. I settle my eyes on the magnificent white creature at Harry's feet. "I believe you have at least one between the three of you?"

The boys just gape at me for a few long seconds and I allow the moment to stretch out cruelly. Boys will, after all, be boys and it could have been far worse. They could have ended up anywhere… The Knight bus would not be my preferred choice of transportation, but it does show a remarkable amount of common sense, after all. 

"I… We… didn't think –" The Longbottom boy eventually chokes out, his face even paler than when they had stumbled out of the bus.

"That," I remark, watching the boys flinch at my dry tone, "is obvious."

Another long moment of building silence.

"That said, boys," I smile down at them and watch as their faces as they slowly realise they do not seem to be in any trouble. "There was some remarkably quick thinking there. You kept a cool head in what appeared to be an emergency. Ten points to Gryffindor for a level-headed assessment of the situation without panicking. Come on, let's get you checked over by Madame Pomfrey. You know, she'd have my hide if I let you go to your dormitory's after being thrown around like that even if you look ok. You'll be glad to know your sister was sorted into Gryffindor, Mister Weasley. I have somehow managed to collect the entire clan of you. Thankfully, not all at the same time."

Slowly we set off toward the castle, leaving Severus to continue his discussion with the bus driver. I'm sure he'll have words to say later about the giving of points for actions not on Hogwarts grounds or even in term time. Let him. They've had a scare today and it's the least I can do. Particularly as it really was quite decent problem solving from a group of twelve-year olds. Anyhow, Severus should be mollified by his exchange with the bus driver. I am not going near that with a broomstick. Let the old man talk his way past Severus’s sharp tongue.


	3. A House Elf of Indeterminate Origins

“Second year in a row, Mister Potter,” Poppy remarks, her smile belying the raised eyebrows. “There are few students who can boast that they have been to the Hospital Wing before term even starts, you realise. This is becoming a habit.”

“I’d prefer it not to, Madam Pomfrey,” the youngster replies with a shy grin. “Not that I’m not grateful at all, but I think I spent more than enough time here last year to last me a lifetime.”

I smile down at the boy fondly. What a difference a year has made to him. Quite aside from the extra flesh on his bones and the healthy flush to his cheeks, he has clearly gained a soft confidence in himself. To think on it, this time last year he wouldn’t even meet our eyes consistently, let alone responding with such a gentle humour. Never say that I can’t admit when I am wrong; I may have been sceptical about Bathida taking on the guardianship of my young ward, but I can’t deny the magic she has worked.

“Well, it could have been significantly worse, I suppose,” Poppy concedes, looking around at the small gaggle of boys with wry amusement in her face. “You’ve all got off remarkably luckily. Nothing is broken, although you will likely have a few fine bruises come tomorrow morning. I’ll send you all of with a vial of painkilling solution that you can take as and when you need it. If you need an extra dose, just pop back to the Hospital Wing tomorrow morning. I can also give you a pot of cream. You shouldn’t need a lot and it will clear up most of the swelling and discolouration. You can bring the pot down once you are finished with it. Any questions, boys?”

“No, thanks, but I know what I’ll never do again!” The young Weasley boy grumbles as he takes the vial from Poppy. “I’m never getting on that Knight Bus ever again in my life! The driver is a lunatic, I swear!”

“I must admit, I am somewhat baffled by how it is even possible to simply not see a fifty foot tree well before you manage to fly into it,” I murmur with a slight smile. “I mean, even before it starts hitting back, it is a distinctly striking part of the Hogwarts landscape. Not one that is easily missed, shall we say…”

“It’s ‘cause he was talking to that ruddy head of his,” the red-haired youngster grouches unhappily as he slouches towards the door. “I’d swear blind that I got most of my bruises before the giant tree tried to kill us! I swear, he’s off his rocker!”

“Thankfully there was no major harm done though, Mister Weasley,” I remark as I gently swear them out of the Hospital Wing. I’s amazing how you can manage that without even touching a child. Sheer force of will, shall we say. “I am however certain that Miss Granger and the remainder of your house mates will all be exceptionally keen to hear of your adventurous entrance onto the school grounds…”

“It was all the bleeding barriers fault…” The mutter from the young Weasley does not escape my hearing.

“And that, I do promise I will be investigating in full, Mister Weasley,” I remark with a grim smile. “There is much that puzzles me about this entire matter, and I do not appreciate being puzzled. Particularly by supposedly inanimate objects.” The Longbottom boy cracks a grin at that, but if I am not mistaken he still looks distinctly concerned. “The password for the Gryffindor Common Room is Wattlebird, I am certain you can make your own way there.”

The group of boys all shuffle off, the majority of them in high enough spirits now that their initial shock has worn off. The Longbottom boy’s feet falter slightly though, before he turns slightly, letting the two others go on ahead. He bites his lip nervously, as though unsure of something and whilst I wait for a beat, it becomes obvious he isn’t sure what to do.

“Is there something you are concerned about, Mister Longbottom?” I ask gently, watching as his gaze skitters nervously up to mine before, focussing on his feet once more. “You know I don’t bite.”

“I was wondering, Professor, if… well… if…” He glances wearily back at the other two boys, but they are happily engrossed in the tales of their misadventures and don’t look back. The youngster takes a deep breath before continuing. “I was wondering if it would be possible to speak with you… privately for a minute, I mean… if that would be ok, Professor?”

“Of course,” I reply, my concern warring with some surprise both at the requests and his mannerisms. I don’t recall the boy being this nervous last year, at least not once we had fixed that irritating wand issue that he was struggling with. “You can accompany me down to my office. Nobody will bother us there.”

We walk down to my office in silence, but I can't help but glance at the boy and something in his demeanour tells me that he is uncomfortable. Perhaps it is just a spider sense honed through my many years of teaching. It’s that more than anything that stops me from merely requisitioning a spare classroom. Somehow, I just have the sense that my office is the most appropriate place for this conversation. After all, the Longbottom boy is not prone to demanding attention, and whilst his confidence has certainly grown in leaps and bounds over the last year, he has kept an unassuming air about him. If it were the Weasley boy, I would be suspicious of some form of practical joke, but I can’t see that here.

The portrait on my office door recognises me even as I draw close to it, and the door swings open. Nodding approvingly, I gently usher the boy into the room as I levitate one of the chairs for him.

“So, whatever is troubling you, Mister Longbottom?” I ask, watching with growing concern at the way the boy kneads his hands together. It’s an anxious habit that he seemed to have grown out of, and my internal alarms have started to chime. 

The child swallows nervously and in the ongoing silence, I am tempted to repeat my question. Indeed, I’ve opened my mouth when those guileless hazel eyes meet mine and I stop.

“It’s… well, it’s something Harry told us when we were on the Knight Bus….” he begins hesitantly. “It didn’t seem right and it worried me. But I might just be making a dragon out of a niffler. I don’t know…”

“Are you still concerned?” I ask, as the boy tails off uncertainly. “If you are, don’t you think it better to talk to someone? It doesn’t have to be me…”

“No…” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’d prefer to speak to you, Professor, if that’s ok?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I remark gently. “For both you and Mister Potter both.”

“Harry thought it was a dream he’d had,” the boy starts again, clearly nervous as speaks, his fingers knotting against each other almost unconsciously. “That’s how he described it at least. A dream that he’d had over the summer holiday. But it didn’t really seem like a dream to me… some of the things that Harry thinks he imagined are just… too real… and it doesn’t make sense…”

“A dream that is not a dream…” I say slowly, as the boy tails off, looking down at his feet. The silence grows, as indeed does my bewilderment. “So, what do you think it might have been?”

“It sounded more like…” he hesitates, glancing up at me nervously before continuing in a rush. “Well, if I’m honest, it sounded more like someone with no magical upbringing or experience trying to explain away an experience with a magical creature that they have no understanding of…”

And if the boy didn’t have my attention before, he certainly does now.

“What kind of creature do you mean exactly, Mister Longbottom?” I ask a little too sharply as I bite back my own anxiety. 

Bathilda’s wards are second to none. I should know; it didn’t take all too much persuasion to get the eldest Weasley to come and check them over for us. If his warding is trusted by Gringott’s, there shouldn’t be much that can get through it. Nothing should have been able to get into that property without prior and explicit permission from Bathilda and only Bathilda. The only exception was one Severus demanded; if Bathilda were for any reason incapacitated, Potter would be able to call for help and allow entrance of any St. Mungo’s staff. Anybody who is not on a previously agreed list however, needs another adult to approve them before entrance; an adult who has already got permission to pass the wards nonetheless.

“I can’t be certain, Professor, but it sounded a lot to me like a house elf from what Harry said,” Longbottom replies with a slight frown, his nervousness once more apparent. “But if it was a House Elf then it was absolutely determined that Harry should not return to Hogwarts this year… and I don’t know why that would be, either…”

“A house elf?” I repeat, struggling to keep disbelief out of my tone. “However did you reach that conclusion, Mister Longbottom?”

“Harry described one perfectly, you see,” Neville explains earnestly, and I can’t help but believe him, however ridiculous his story may sound. “He’s never seen one before, but his description was almost perfect. He said that this apparition was about the size of a three year old, but with a far bigger head and eyes that bulged like tennis balls or something and a really awkward squeaky voice that sound like it belonged to a eunuch… whatever that means. I did ask but I didn’t really understand the answer… something about men becoming women or something anyway… it sounded really quite gruesome in honesty…”

“Do continue, Mister Longbottom,” I say with a slight smile. I feel no need to as yet enlighten the boy as to what a eunuch might be. It seems typical however that the muggle word has continued with such antiquities long after they were considered barbarous by the wizarding populace. “This house elf?”

“Oh, yes, sorry Professor,” the boy looks back down at his feet briefly before continuing. “Only it wasn’t just the appearance, although that would have been enough. From what Harry said, it was dressed in an ill-fitting pillow case and kept trying to punish itself for speaking ill of its masters. That isn’t something Harry would just imagine or dream, Professor. That’s a house elf!”

“And you say that it didn’t want Mister Potter to return to Hogwarts this year?” I ask slowly, trying to come to terms with this onslaught of information.

“No. Harry said it was absolutely determined,” the youngster’s hazel eyes meet mine and I can see absolute faith in words. “It didn’t just not want him here, it actively warned him away. Harry said that it was really quite upset and was certain that he would be in danger if he came back here. But it wouldn’t say what the danger might be or even whether anyone else would be in danger…”

“That is very, very interesting, Mister Longbottom and I will certainly look into this closely,” I say, keeping my tone as reasonable as I can. I would love to be able to say that nothing could possibly befall the boy within the walls of Hogwarts, but I only need to remember some of the slightly hairier moments of last year to have that wishful thinking dispelled. 

“I don’t suppose you have any idea who the house elf might belong to?” I ask, without any high hopes. After all, if he had known that pertinent detail, it would surely have come up somewhat early and without solicitation. 

It therefore doesn’t surprise me when he shakes his head.

“No, Professor,” he admits, almost shamefully. “Harry said that the creature named itself Dotty or Dopsy or something like that I think… but none of my grandmother’s friends or acquaintances have an elf by that name to the best of my memory at least… I can always ask her if you think it would be helpful, though?”

“No, that’s quite all right, Mister Longbottom,” I remark with a smile. “I can always contact Augusta myself, but for the moment you have given me more than enough information to be getting on with. Thank you for coming to me with this. It might be nothing as you have said, but it might also be a real threat. You have done the correct thing. Five points to Gryffindor. Off you go now.”

The boy smiles slightly wanly as he heads out of my office, leaving me with much to think about indeed. There are several pressing issues clamouring for my attention here, all of them equally important. First and perhaps foremost, there has clearly been a serious breach of security here. I am more than aware that the vagaries of house elf magic can prove difficult to counteract; the fact that they alone can apparate in Hogwarts is testimony enough to that, but even so, the wards should have been sufficient and clearly are not. Then of course there is the matter of the barrier and the warning. It seems far beyond co-incidence for the Potter boy to have received such a warning, only to then find himself unable to reach Hogwarts through conventional means. Something smells distinctly off about the whole experience.

The warning itself concerns me as well, not least because of the method in which it was received. For a house elf to act in such a manner, particularly when it is apparent that it is acting in outright defiance of the wishes of its family, is almost beyond belief. Something very strange is going on here, and I intend to discover exactly what it is. Whatever this house elf seems to believe is going to happen at Hogwarts this year scared it and scared it badly enough that it sought out Potter in order to warn him away. Either that or someone is playing with us, and I don’t much care for being played. But I suspect my initial conclusion is the closer to the truth. But what could come to Hogwarts that would unnerve a house elf like that?

It is perhaps of small surprise that I find myself taking a wander down in the direction of Severus’ quarters in fairly short order. I am reasonably sure that my younger colleague will have finished inducting his youngest Snakes into the House, a task he takes some pride in doing personally each year. After all that occurred last year, I know he can be trusted and sees things from a very different perspective to me sometimes. If anyone is going to have a clue what is going on here, it will be Severus and Longbottom’s account deeply concerns me. I have no doubt that he is telling the truth; he has no reason to lie and unlike young Potter, he would recognise a house elf without any issues at all. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Weasley boy has no more than a passing recognition of the creatures, for all his magical heritage, but Longbottom House would have its fair share, as indeed would many of their closer friends and allies.

But surely, if it were a house elf belonging to a family close to the family, the boy would have recognised the name? Or, in fairness, would he? After all, to near enough all, house elves are merely a piece of the furniture and you don’t name the furniture. In this case, you often don’t even see the furniture unless specifically called for, so why would you remember its name? I was exactly the same until that unsettling moment with Severus last year. I can hardly judge the child for it.

“Severus,” I greet my younger colleague with no small measure of surprise as he steps out of the door before I even reach it, let alone have time to announce my presence. “How did you…”

“Call it a gift,” he drawls softly, an undeniable smirk on that sallow face showing his amusement at having discomforted me so easily. “I assume this is to do with the Potter boy, Minerva. Most things seem to be.”

“In part,” I agree as he silently waves me through into his quarters, cloak billowing gently as he does so. That reminds me… between one thing and another, I never did check to see if that’s a custom made charm. “We may however have larger problems at hand. I have just had a rather enlightening discussion with one of my younger students, that leads me to believe that it may have been house elf magic that was responsible for blocking the Kings Cross barrier. However…”

“Is that even possible?” Severus drawls softly, his face a strange mix of disbelief and fascination. “How could any… and on what evidence are you making this assumption, Minerva? This isn’t something that you would have come to randomly.”

“One boy’s testimony of another boy’s ‘nightmare’,” I remark wryly, fully expecting the look of rampant disbelief and sculpted contempt I now find on my younger colleague’s face. “I am more than aware of how that sounds, Severus, believe me. But the pieces do add up. More worryingly, it all adds up to a picture that I don’t quite understand.”

“From the beginning, Minerva,” Severus drawls. “I suspect that might help us all…”

“Yes, well…” I mutter as I take a seat opposite Severus. “It’s always helpful if you know where the beginning is…”

“Pick a point, any point,” Severus remarks, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It can’t be that difficult, Minerva. You only spent a few moments with the boy, after all. At the rate we’re going, it will be full night fall before you even get started.”

“A house elf of indeterminate origin seems to have successfully managed to bypass all of the security precautions that have been laid on Bathilda’s house,” I finally say, biting back a sigh as I do so. “By the account that I have heard, it appeared late at night and was strangely determined to stop the young Master Potter from coming back to Hogwarts. It seemed positive that there was to be a danger at Hogwarts; a danger so significant that Potter should not return at all for fear of it.”

“What kind of danger?” Severus drawls, the only sign that he is paying close attention being the way those dark, hooded eyes never leave my own. He nods to himself at the shake of my head. “Have you spoken to the Potter boy himself yet?”

“No,” I reply shortly. “From what I have been told, it would appear that young Harry has dismissed the entire experience as a strange and particularly vivid dream. I don’t want to worry him further until we have a better idea of what we are dealing with.”

“Hmm… I suppose that is an understandable concern,” the younger man concedes, glancing briefly down at his long fingers before meeting my gaze once more. “The boy has more than enough experience of hardship and fear. You don’t intend to make him fearful of his safety in his new abode. Bathilda will have to be informed, you do realise?”

“Of course,” I respond smartly. “In intend to check Kings Cross first however. Would you be interested in taking an extra-curricular field trip with me?”

“I can see no reason why not,” Severus responds slowly and dryly. “It is not as if I have a mountain of preparation to do for the Hospital Wing after all, but I must admit that this business intrigues me. Do you have any insight into what we are looking for?”

“Any suggestion that the barrier was actually magically tampered with, I suppose…” I reply, a slightly hesitant note to my voice that I attempt to muffle instinctively. The gleam in those dark eyes is all I need to see to know I am unsuccessful. “I can’t imagine any but some powerful magic managing to disrupt that barrier. It must have left some form of residue.”

“Talk as we walk then,” Severus announces, standing sharply at his own words. He looks at me and sighs audibly at whatever expression he sees on my face. “It would perhaps be the most circumspect option, if we were to leave with as little fanfare as possible?” The exasperation is clear in his tone. “The fewer those who see us leave, the fewer who may ask potentially awkward questions. We can apparate unseen once we reach the edge of the grounds.” He stands and walks towards the door. “Do you have any idea of this stray house elves name, by any chance?”

That last question is fired over his shoulder and I have little choice but to follow him out of the door in order to respond. Not that it is any hardship, mind. Severus has an excellent point. After all the surprises of last year, it would be foolish to trust anything to chance and luck. His plan shows great merit. I would have had us floo into Hogsmeade and then go from there, however that would undoubtedly have drawn unnecessary attention to our mission. After all, many an old student would find it worth mentioning that they’d seen the Snake and the Lion together alone. School yard gossip is a most tedious thing.

“Longbottom wasn’t sure,” I say quietly, as we step into the main entrance hall from the dungeons. “Either he couldn’t remember or Potter wasn’t very clear. He seemed to think that it was something along the lines of Dotty or Dobsy or something…”

Severus stops so abruptly that I find myself careening into the back of him, nearly falling backwards in the process. 

“Severus, what in the name of…”

“Hold.” Severus all but commands and somehow my voice trails away without my permission. To cover my unease, I brush ineffectually at my emerald green robes. “Could it have been called ‘Dobby’ by any chance?”

“Why, I suppose so…” I glare at him, but as per usual the man fails to respond to the icy stare that brings most overs to their knees. “What does this have to do with you all but knocking me over, Severus?”

“I believe you walked into me, Minerva,” Severus has started moving again, his steps clicking purposefully on the stony gravel in direct contrast to the sudden indifferent neutrality in his tone. “Get ready to apparate. I will meet you inside the platform.”

With that, infuriatingly the man is gone, leaving me gaping in a highly unbecoming manner at the space in which he has vanished from. Severus is known for being curt, but that was rather more extreme than I would have expected from him. Gathering my cloak around me, I take a deep breath and suppress sincere irritation as I fix the destination in my mind. I’d never live it down if I splinched myself now. With a whirl of darkness and the sudden pressure of the magic, I land neatly just inside the boundary of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Severus is already there and waving his wand impatiently at the apparent brick barrier before him.

“You were right.” His tone is cold, clinical. He doesn’t look up from the motions he is drawing in front of the barrier. “Strong magic was used here and not long ago at that. It’s a strange magic, unlike that of any witch or wizard I have encountered.”

“But that means…”

“Yes,” Severus’s response is short. “The Longbottom boy was right to bring this to you. The magical signature I am reading here is not human. It’s not even remotely human. It’s a good job we came now. If we’d have waited until tomorrow, I would wager that there would have been little enough signature left to trace even that much.” 

“The house elf. Severus?” I remind him tartly. “You seem to know something. Care to elaborate.”

“I don’t know what is going on, Minerva,” Severus replies dryly. “But I intend to find out. Malfoy Manor has two house elves. One of them is called Dobby.”

“So Malfoy sent the house elf?” I ask in utter outrage, my blood beginning to boil as I imagine all the things I would do to that man.

“No,” Severus is sharp, blunt and his tone leaves absolutely no room for argument. “There would be no gain in Lucius doing such a thing. Plus that elf is… strange. Lucius wouldn’t trust it with any task more delicate than cleaning the dishes, and even then not the items of any value. Merlin knows, Narcissa wouldn’t trust it with the baby clothes, let alone Draco himself. No…”

“Young Mister Malfoy then?” I ask, wondering what mischief that young terror could be trying to wreck. Maybe just the aim of keeping the Potter boy from Hogwarts this year, after all it’s no great secret that he is angling for the Slytherin Seeker role and Potter would be his only real opponent on the pitch. Or just for the purposes of spreading confusion and chaos…

“The boy disdains that creature even more than his father does…” Severus muses aloud. “No. If I am correct, there is something very strange going on here indeed. I suspect the key question is thus; is the elf working for the good of the Malfoy family or does it know something…”

“What do you mean?” I ask sharply. 

“We have been looking at this as a ploy against Potter somehow,” Severus meets my gaze unflinchingly, his tone utterly even. “We have not considered that this elf might actually believe it is protecting Potter.”

“But what reason would it have?” Disbelief wars with confusion in my tone.

“Now that, I do not know,” Severus voice is dangerously quiet. “Yet.”

There’s a swish and a crack and he’s gone. Again.


	4. A Minister Singing Contralto

"Minerva, will you please do something about Mister Weasley's wand?" Filius snaps in exasperation before the all staff meeting has even really started. "The boy is an absolute menace to everyone around him! He all but took my eye out and somehow managed set Mister Finnigan's hair alight yesterday afternoon! I wouldn't mind, but we don't start the advanced fire charms until next term!"

Yes. That was another thing on my long list of things to do, wasn't it? Things just seem to be slip away from me. I'm sure my life was simple at some point. All I had to worry about was the possibility of two red-headed demons blowing up half the castle, either accidentally or less so, and a selection of sub-standard essays. Now there is so much to contend with that I can't keep it all straight in my head. A new curriculum combined with final year students completing their existing courses. A possessed Professor being held somewhere deep in the Ministry. The grindingly slow release of an innocent man from the horrors of the Dementors. A interminably demented house elf and a distinctly dented Whomping Willow. Oh, and a boy's broken wand. Because clearly that is the most important item on my list of things to do.

Filius is right though. The boy is a menace with that hastily taped together monstrosity he calls a wand. He was never all that good at aiming his wand work even before the accident, but he's a danger to all around him now. I'm not looking forward to Molly's response mind you. That family barely have a spare bent knut to rub on their robes and wands don't come cheap. What with the additional expense of five students starting a new curriculum in various degrees, this year must already have cost them a small fortune. Not for the first time I wonder why Hogwarts doesn't have a fund to help struggling families. Not that I don't have enough on my plate without taking that on in addition.

“Moving onto more pertinent business,” Albus interjects before I can frame a response, so I merely nod at Filius. “We have a great deal to discuss and a limited amount of time. Has anyone anything to raise before we get started?”

Albus allowed the silence to continue for a couple of seconds before smiling benignly and continuing.

“The first matter of business I originally had in mind was the new curriculum and whether there are any issues, but that perhaps can wait in light of a more immediate manner.” He smiles genially around the gathered faculty, far more of us present than there have been in recent years. “Pomona, how is the Whomping Willow fairing?”

“Probably far better than the Knight Bus, in honesty Albus,” Pomona responds with a smile. “Of all the places within Hogwarts grounds that Ernie Prang could have tried to park, you’d have thought he’d have more sense than to aim for the only tree in the world that hits back… either way, I am highly grateful for the help of Remus and Bill here. Thanks to them, there were not too many bruises incurred in bandaging the branches that were the most damaged.”

“Not a problem,” Remus chips in with a smile. “I would say anytime, but I have to admit there are definitely less stressful ways to spend one’s morning…”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Albus remarks heartily. “So, onto the next matter. As you all will no doubt have noticed, we have a huge influx of new Professors, many of which are here in this room. Once more, I would like to extend a huge welcome to Hogwarts to you all and reassure you that if you have any problems settling in, any one of our longer standing members of staff will be willing to help you.” His eyes flickered around the crowded room. “Would we like to go around and say a few words about ourselves in order to introduce ourselves?”

“No,” Severus’ response is sharp and immediate. “We most certainly would not, Albus.” It is easy enough to read between the lines. Severus doesn’t much care what anyone else thinks, he just has no inclination to join in such tomfoolery. “I am sure there will be ample time to ‘get to know each other’ throughout the year.”

The sneer on those five words is pronounced and I bite back a smirk at the younger man’s obvious discomfort. Admittedly, there are several others looking distinctly relieved at the derailing of this particular idea. I don’t know where Albus gets some of his hair-brained ideas from. This one was never going to fly with our sharp tongued Potions Master.

“Ah well, it was worth a try my dear boy,” the older man replies with that distinct twinkle in his eye. “I am sure you will all have ample time to introduce get to know one another nonetheless. I am aware that the new curriculum will put distinct strain on some members of the faculty over others…”   
Here he looks directly at Filius before his bright gaze moves over to me. This doesn’t overly surprise me. As an interim measure we have ended up taking a lion’s share of the curriculum, although on a shared basis. Filius alone has taken on sections of Magical Theory, Duelling, Offensive Magic, Spellcraft and Enchantment in addition to his role as Charms teacher and responsibilities as Head of House. It’s a vast workload for one man, even if many of them are advanced courses and so limited in number. “So I expect full co-operation from all of you to make things run as smoothly as possible.”

He glances around the room once more before continuing.

“There is far more cross-over in the curriculum than we have ever previously experienced here at Hogwarts, which means you will find yourselves working closely with colleagues that would have been out of your usual sphere of influence,” Albus continues, this time his gaze meets Severus’ levelly and I can read the unsaid warning there. Play nice or don’t play at all. I don’t think he has as much to worry about as he thinks, mind you. Severus can be sharp and caustic but he respects excellence and efficiency. He may not like Remus on a personal level, but he cannot deny that the man has the skills and the personality to teach well. “Personal vendetta’s will not be permitted to intrude upon our student’s learning. We would all do well to remember that. Are there any questions relating to the curriculum that need addressing?”

“How many of our sixth and seventh years have taken the switch over to the IMP curriculum?” Pomona is the first to open her mouth. “I only ask because trying to run two curriculum’s at the same time is going to be all but impossible.”

“All of our current sixth years have moved over to the new curriculum,” Albus replied with a smile. “There were a handful who took a little bit more persuasion, and for that I can only congratulate all of the Heads of House who have spent a lot of time over the summer calming fears. Unfortunately, our seventh year has more of a 50/50 split to it. I suspect because of the expectation that they would have to complete an extra year before graduating in most cases. They will however be able to sit in on the regular classes for the subjects they are taking and additional tuition can be provided at points to cover any aspects of the old curriculum that have been changed or altered. This will be particularly noticeable in Protective and Defensive Spellcraft and Lore where entire sections of the class have been moved in to the Magical Species class. I suspect we will have to monitor this closely over the year, but it shouldn’t cause too many issues.”

“I have a handful of NEWT students who are interested in joining new classes, whilst continuing to complete their NEWT’s.” Filius interjects. “I suspect given the chance they will want to take the examination next year as well. Will this be permittable?”

“Of course,” Albus nods agreeably. “From next year we will be far stricter I suspect, but for the current seventh years, allowances can be made. Providing they continue to attend those classes next year, even if they have officially graduated, I can’t see any reason to hold them back.”

“Talking of additional courses,” I say, thinking suddenly of the impossible course load Percy Weasley is determined to take on for himself. “I have one of my brightest sixth years determined on biting off far more than he can chew, I fear.”

“The eldest Weasley boy here?” Filius asks. “I was talking to him after the welcome feast. He’s certainly determined.”

“Tell me about it,” I sigh. “He’s currently got himself lined up for eleven IMP’s and two TOAD’s if I remember correctly. And he’s already asked for permission to take the TOAD’s to IMP level after seventh year. That boy should have been in Ravenclaw, Filius.”

“He’s not the only one, Minerva.” Filius looks up at me with a glint in his dark eyes. “I swear on Merlin’s beard that I should have got the Granger girl. At least with the Weasley’s it’s justifiable. After all, you’ve got the whole set.”

“Either way. I wanted to check that it was permissible for IMP level students to take TOAD classes if they so wished to do so?” I turn back to the matter of hand. “Of course, they will have to accept that they will be classed with younger students…”

“If they are happy with that arrangement, again I can see no problems.” Albus agrees. “In fact, it might be beneficial to the younger students to have older students working with them. If it all works out, I might consider allowing future IMP level students to expand their horizons by supplementing their learning in such a way. Of course, they will have to be able to prove they can handle the workload. Are you quite certain Mr Weasley is up to the task?”

“He seems quite adamant that he is,” I answer. “I’ve put in a request to the Ministry for the use of a Time Turner as a special arrangement. After all, the boy is going to need every extra hour he can get. I’ll keep a close eye on him, of course. But he’d read the opening chapters in all of his textbooks before term even started. I suspect he’ll manage.”

“A Time Turner?” Severus drawled. “Isn’t that akin to giving the boy an unfair advantage?”

“It’s hardly a competition, Severus.” I snap sharply, glaring daggers at him coldly. “And there is precedent, after all.”

“There certainly is,” Filius interjects. “Only last year I put in a request for one of my sixth years. The Ministry is happy to oblige providing certain conditions are met and due diligence is taken. It’s rare to have two students with Time Turners in the school at the same time mind you.”

“I suspect it will be three next year if your student is staying on,” I remark quietly. “I don’t doubt Miss Granger will try to take every course the school can offer…”

So early in the school term, there isn’t really much more to discuss and after meandering uselessly around various topics, everyone starts to disperse. I suppose one of the small benefits of the amount of additional work I have somehow signed up for this year is the excuse I have to stay well away from the planning of various festivities and celebrations. With Halloween not far off on the horizon, I’m glad I can wash my hands of it. It is a ridiculous celebration after all. Bats and pumpkins and sticky sweets. A muggle invention that somehow made it across the normally firm dividing line, so now even in magical circles it takes precedence over the solemn affair that Samhain should be. I know several colleagues think the same, including Severus, but it is never enough to swing the tide. Merlin would be spinning in his grave.

An owl greets me as I enter my office, perched tentatively on the window ledge and looking distinctly disgruntled. Can owls even look disgruntled? Well, this one manages it for certain. Taking the thick parchment from its left leg, it hoots imperiously at me before settling down with its head tucked beneath a wing. Clearly I am expected to respond. The seal is recognisable and as I break it open, I have to wonder what the Ministry wants of me now. With the curriculum finalised and in place, I had hoped for a break from the endless back and forth that has been the bane of my life these last few months.

Dear Minerva,

You might recall a small rat problem that was encountered last year at Hogwarts. I am writing to inform you that despite significant pressure from the Minister, I have finally succeeded in procuring a re-trial, or a trial at all as the case may be, for the convicted murderer Sirius Black. The date has yet to be circulated.

The Ministry is keen for this to be a hushed affair, with as little public awareness as possible. There is little I can do in my current position, however it is of note that Mr Black still currently resides in Azkaban and is considered in a fit state to testify without further medical attention.

I am sure you are aware of the need to discretion in a case like this and I will leave any future action up to your own discretion.

May Merlin’s Justice Be Served,  
Amelia Bones  
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

My eyebrows retreat into my hairline as I read the careful lettering in front of me. Amelia’s wording is no accident. She has been very careful indeed and that alone is concerning. Clearly the Ministry want to hide this miscarriage of justice under the carpet and Amelia is worried. I scratch out a brief response and let the bird fly before gathering a few items and making my way out. If anyone would know what to do about this, it would be Severus, but his ingrained bias will make him unreasonable. I turn towards the Defence rooms instead, and find Remus sat at his desk surrounded by paper.

“Having fun?” I quip as I walk in.

“Don’t tempt me,” he responds. “I can drop it on your desk if you would prefer?”

“No thanks,” I reply with a smirk. “However, I have something that might interest you more than mediocre essays here.” 

I pass the parchment over to him with a hover charm and watch carefully as he reads. By the time he’s reached the last few words his hand is shaking with what I suspect is barely suppressed rage.

“They can’t do this!” He exclaims loudly, standing and starting to pace the floor of his office. “They can’t do it!! I could murder them!”

“Well, it looks like they are trying to,” I keep my tone light deliberately. I am no less infuriated than Remus, but one of us has to keep a level head. “The question is, what are we going to do about it? And murder, whilst an attractive temptation, is probably not the optimum of solutions.”

“What can we do?” He growls with an almost feral ferocity. “They have it all nicely sewn up, don’t they? Keep the case out of the public eye, rubber stamp it and Sirius is once more a terrorist, only this time not necessarily a murderer. Even if they let him out, which is doubtful, he’ll never be able to hold his head high again. He’ll always be seen as a Death Eater!”

“We can’t let that happen,” I say quietly. “The Ministry must be held accountable for their actions.”

“How are you so damn calm!?” The werewolf explodes, his magic pulsing to life in his aura. “They haven’t even taken him to St. Mungo’s! They haven’t done anything!”

“Amelia has been very clever,” I remark, ignoring the outbreak. “Whilst she almost certainly wasn’t meant to notify us, there is nothing in that letter that could prove she is deliberately trying to stir a response. If it should get out to the right people… the worst that she could be accused of would be a minor indiscretion.”

“What good would that do?” Remus snaps distractedly, running a hand through untidy hair. “It’s not as though people’s sympathies are going to be with the convicted Death Eater, particularly when there’s no judgement there.”

“Are you so sure about that?” My tone is just as calm, just as steady but the younger man looks up at me suddenly, his face difficult to read but his look intense. “After all, it’s all in the interpretation. If the Ministry leaked it first, it would likely be played out as just caution. But if we spin it…”

“The Prophet…” Remus breathes breathlessly.

“The Prophet, The Wizarding World News, Wizard’s Voice, The Whinging Times, The Quibbler…” I watch as Remus’ face seems to light up from within. “You name it, we contact them. Even if the Prophet won’t run it for fear of the Ministry to begin with, they’ll have no choice once it gets out. They won’t stand for other papers having an edge on them with such huge news. The Ministry won’t stand a chance.”

“What about Amelia?” he asks.

“What about her?” I remark with a shrug. “She wouldn’t have let us know if she didn’t expect us to do something with the information. So let’s do something. Shout it to the rooftops. Scream it to the heavens. Make the Ministry rue the day they thought they could get one over on us. They deserve every ounce of pain we can inflict on them.”

“Minerva… that… that might just work…”

“Oh, it’ll work all right. We’ll get their underwear so thoroughly in a twist that Fudge will be singing contralto. Believe you me.”

And so it begins.


End file.
